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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29768352">germolene, disinfect the scene</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/s0dafucker/pseuds/s0dafucker'>s0dafucker</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marble Hornets</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Gore, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masochism, Murder, Oral Sex, POV Second Person, Pre-Canon, Sadism, Snuff, Trans Male Character, jerking off to snuff films. is that a tag</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:46:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,415</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29768352</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/s0dafucker/pseuds/s0dafucker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>(cetrizine, your fever's gripped me again)</p><p>you and jay frequent liveleak and the like, were regulars even back when it was called something-else and there wasn’t a not-breathing somebody-else under the floorboards under the abandoned maggot-couch where you traded first kisses, spit-sticky and blood-wet, his canines worrying your tongue until it burst and dripped down your chin like fruit juice, like he had bit you open like a too-ripe peach.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alex Kralie/Jay Merrick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>germolene, disinfect the scene</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>cw for some brief vague emeto shit</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>his elbow’s jutting out and into you, some fleshy soft part of your stomach that is boiling, faintly, with something sort of almost aroused, and you’re trying not to think of brian’s slick-slow smile with all his even teeth when he said <em> you kids have fun tonight, </em> when you let slip you were going to jay’s dorm for the night; he’s biting into your neck, he’s touching you <em> everywhere </em>and still he’s bending around you to see the shitty little staticy television he dragged all the way here from his car, picked up off the side of the road like a hitchhiker. </p><p>‘you gotta see this,’ is what he said, pulling out an unmarked dvd from his pocket with a pearlescent shine that made you think, in a perverse way, about getting engaged, like he’s proposing when he turns the thing around to show you the scrawled-on sharpie, <b>R73 </b>in his neat little handwriting, ‘tonight. we gotta watch this.’</p><p>and, yeah, you knew what it was, you and jay frequent liveleak and the like, were regulars even back when it was called something-else and there wasn’t a not-breathing somebody-else under the floorboards under the abandoned maggot-couch where you traded first kisses, spit-sticky and blood-wet, his canines worrying your tongue until it burst and dripped down your chin like fruit juice, like he had bit you open like a too-ripe peach. you used to bring your laptop on dates and teach him how to leave the clear-net, teach him how to open browser windows that don’t leave traces and the right set of words to type in with shaking fingers to see things that are <em> I-L-L-E-G-A-L </em>and he smiled with his teeth all bared and bloody and asked if you would ever do this shit in real life. would you ever want a cameraman. </p><p>would you ever want a co-star, he asks, heavy-lidded bloodshot eyes looking you up and down and up again while you cross your legs in your jeans and watch the latest porno he found on effed-up-movies-dot-com, the little saw-blade curl to his mouth when he smiles and leers over at you and the girl in the video gets fucked in the eye-sockets. <em> d’you think this is cornsyrup ‘n food coloring, </em> you ask, instead of answering, <em> or the bottled shit.  </em></p><p>he’s bent into you all barbed-wire sharp, in the here-and-now, in his coffin-sized dorm bed and his postcard-sized tv, the faintly skipping sound of his playstation trying to play the greasy fingerprinted disc he burned off of god-knows-where, god knows it must’ve taken him ages to find this the way it took him six months and some change to get his hands on that paperback copy of mai-chan’s daily life that he gave you for your birthday-</p><p>‘shit,’ he says, all whispering-gasping into your ear, and yeah, when he gets his hand down your jeans you’re <em> wet </em> because it’s not really a movie, there’s no fucking foreplay in a mix-tape like this, your mouth started salivating of its own accord when he took the engagement-ring disc out of his pocket in the first place. ‘god, alex, this is fucked, this is so much better than, like- the <em> motel files- </em>’ </p><p>he’s got his fingers in you, clumsy-hot, licking up your neck, and somehow you’ve got enough of a voice left to go <em> yeah, yeah, thank god there’s no fucking industrial music, </em>wet rasp of the words, and he laughs into your skin, half-wheezing, ‘cause he’s the only guy on earth who agrees with you that there’s too much goddamn noise music in snuff these days. ‘specially the faux shit, you think, like those stupid fucking vomit movies he made you watch. </p><p>(he rolled you a joint, you remember the shape of his bitten-raw fingers in your curtained-dim dorm, the collar of his moth-eaten t-shirt slipping off his sunburnt back; he licked the taste from your mouth and you laughed, at all the food-dye-blood and straight-guy porno shit, and he kissed you in the glow of his laptop screen, the white-red halo around his tongue and his teeth and the weed-bitter heat of him. </p><p><em> you wanna try this sometime? </em> you said, half-giggling, and you could feel his neck flush hot hot hot under your bit-open lips, your eyes trained on the girl getting a couple broad-knuckled fingers shoved into her mouth until she gagged. <em> you sicko.</em>)</p><p>and so you tried it, once, him sitting with his legs in a puppy-tangle on your kitchen floor, booze-sour tongue licking up your fingers with something dark-obscene in his eyes, and his hair-trigger gag reflex didn't really do it for you but the tears clinging to his spiderweb eyelashes sure did.</p><p>you didn’t tell him, for months, weeks-on-weeks, that this was anything more than a morbid little hobby, the same way kids at school send each other grimy little a-o-l links to <em> one lunatic one ice pick </em> and other drivel- you let him climb into your bed and jerk you off with his spit-wet fingers and pour over your creased copies of cinema sewer and then the two of you became bonnie and clyde lover-killers almost by accident. he jokes, sometimes, that it was only a matter of time before a filmmaking major started moonlighting in the industry, and you say <em> it’s about time someone who knows shit about cinematography started making dirty movies, </em>because at least you and jay knew how to hold the goddamn camera when you caved in seth’s skull, that’s more than those august underground jackasses have going for them. </p><p>his fingers in you curl up and you have some gorey, fantastical thought about your hymen breaking open like a cheap, cliched guro manga, something in you snapping, getting your guts fucked out; he shushes you, right up against your mouth where the s-sound hisses and spits, so your moaning doesn’t drown out the screams in the video. </p><p>(‘alex,’ he whines, stretching your name out into two desperate syllables, crushing the <em> x </em> into a joint-click-snap the way you like, ‘my <em> jaw </em>hurts.’ his eyes are impossibly dark and pitiful, his face all wrecked and blush-pink. ‘did you cum yet?’</p><p>you light a cigarette and mutter, 'shut it,' a little sticky-clumsy with the inhale in your mouth and his hot breath on the head of your cock- 'and get back down, i can't see the movie.' </p><p>you did cum, for the record, fifteen-or-so minutes ago, but you actually do want to watch your movie, an untitled video file emailed to you by a forum buddy, someone you've traded some back and forth spitballing with; he's one of the few guys online who understands that when you and jay say <em> no kids no rape </em> you mean it. on-screen, he wrenches a nicotine-stained tooth loose from an anonymous mouth in time with your second orgasm, your eyes straining to stay open and follow the pornographic <em> spurt! </em>of blood from the empty gum-socket.)</p><p>you can tell he's close by the way his little vampire-teeth sink into your pulse point, his little huffs of breath next to your skin, <em> ha- fuck- </em>warm sounds like he's making clouds in below-freezing air instead of just getting your neck all humid-sticky and gross in that way that would piss you off if it was anybody else. you're barely even watching the movie, you shithead, too busy with handsfull of jay jay jay and you're so fucking wet it's hard for his boney fingers to catch any kind of friction in you, like fistfucking a stab wound, but you like it anyway, like the way he keeps his jeans on while he grinds into your leg so he can have one hand in the bloody mess of you and one pressed sweat-hot to your mouth so you can both hear every detail of this tape that'll get you arrested if his RA decides to check in. his palm tastes like salt, the same way his tears do, the same way his mouth did when he licked up sarah's cheek like a rabid little animal- </p><p>(-people paid <em> money </em>for that one, even just the shutter-click couple frames of a gif, jay's pink tongue 'n hint of teeth sliding into a grin, sarah's wide girl's-eye with the sticky mascara, that blair witch kind of pin-prick pupil needle-point terror-)</p><p>-and he just breathes his sauna-hot muffled horny noise down your neck, hiss of breath through his teeth where he's got to be biting his lip or something, to make it sound like that, and you know he's not gonna make it to the end of the video by the way his fingers twitch inside you, and yeah, jackpot, there it is; he stops breathing for a heartbeat, his hipbones cutting into you, and he shudders with his whole body, mutters something that could be a curse or your name or some fuck-drunk combination of the two.</p><p>the hand over your mouth goes slack. you nip at it, teasing, childish, and you- still hard, nothing but politeness keeping your hips pressed to the mattress and not fucking up into his fingers- wonder if he's feeling guilty, listening to the faint sound of flesh tearing, the gore on the television that you can't entirely see 'cause of the way his body brackets you in, the whole mass of him. you always wonder that, if one day it'll all hit him wrong, like maybe you have a sick secret fantasy of him realizing how fucked up this whole thing is and beating you senseless over it. </p><p>'fuck,' he says, and he rolls over even if all that does is press his sweat-slick body into yours in different places, expose the suffocated-hot pieces of you to the air for the first time all night, 'i was gonna, like, <em> wait- </em> i wanted to see the rest-' he goes fumbling for the remote, pulls his pruning-damp fingers out of you- 'did you-?'</p><p>'no,' you say, vetriloquist-mouthed, like it's not really you speaking, and you set your crooked glasses right, ignore the pricking of pain at the bridge of your nose.</p><p>'shit,' he mumbles, his voice all thick and worn-out, the static-sizzling in the air rolling and swelling- 'i was gonna suck your cock,' he says, his face ghost-pale looking over his bare shoulder from the far side of the mattress where he's fucking with the tv.</p><p>'you still can,' you tell him, rolled over, propped up on your elbow, <em> paint me like one of your french girls </em>still with a pulsing heat between your legs, and he returns your sharp grin, wolf's-teeth. you can see him breathing, the same clarity you could hear it in, the in-out of his shoulderblades, the up-down of his ribcage. you'd gnaw on his bones if you could, and they're so close to his skin that you think about it daily, think about pinning him down and biting him open to see all the important bits of him. neat autopsy-cuts don't suit jay, you don't think, not the way that teethmarks do. not the way that licking the fear from sarah's face did.</p><p>he settles between your legs, the half-nudity of him erotic, miles of bare skin above the belt- 'can i have a cigarette,' you murmur, and he passes one to your open mouth, lights it with an afterglow-trembling hand. </p><p>you smoke most when you're naked, when it's dangerous to be holding a flaming-hot thing over your vulnerable self, and you blame the way you started-</p><p>in brian's tight shower, a pack of newports you pawned off tim, steamed-up glasses and jay all gawky elegant exposed ribs up against the tile, his body smokingsteamingfeverhot and the foreign buzz under your skin like goosebumps, brand-new-addict pushing your clean clean fingers into him, the shiny playboy spread of his wetwetwet chest where the y-cut would go, his nipple in your mouth and the spray of actual good water pressure, not the fucking dorm shit, him mumbling something torturehot about waterboarding, about you being carefulnottoburnhim, his voice shakey and strung-out as you breathed graywhite into his jugular- you think it left a kind of pavlovian impression. you're not above that, not above being an animal with instincts and easy to code desires shaped like his bible-naked body and his puppyteeth, his sharp incisors bitingbitingbiting to keep all his sounds inside. so you've got your back against his paperthin mattress and a cigarette between your drywet lips and you're smoking like you're sucking on his sweet chest alloveragain, thinking about waterboarding him, thinking about putting it out on his thighs spread wide open and straining with the effort so you can see the severable vein that runs there. </p><p>and it was <em> just a cigarette </em> the way it was <em> just jay </em> the way it was <em> just a horror movie </em>when you were fourteen watching texas chainsaw and feeling something stirring in your stomach that shouldn't have been there, shouldn't shouldn't shouldn't the way he's licking you open and you're thinking about the dvd still spinning in his playstation where somebody died forreal, got cut open forreal, somebody forwarding you a link to a site where people got killed forreal, kid's-gossip until it became something else, and you cut off the noise that his tongue rips out of you because you aren't expecting it, aren't expecting how fast all your bones lock up and together and you cum in his pretty playboy mouth. </p><p>he grins with it, rubs his newly-sore jaw, breathes in real deep 'cause you held him down 'til he probably felt that old suffocating animal-panic, and you listen to the human sound of both of you panting, in the dark, and you take a too-deep pull of your cigarette so the tender place in your throat stings.</p><p>'gimme a kiss,' he pleads, half-kidding, that joking-tortured tone he knows gets you going, and you get all upclose and sticky with his mouth that tastes like cum and the aftertaste of menthol and ash and and and </p><p>he's bitten his lip open, and you chase the copper-iron sense-memory of it, like you can bottle his pain and drink it for yourself. </p><p>'you smell like shit,' he says into your shoulder, into a place he's bit open before, with his razor-sharp teeth and his tongue that likes to lap at your wounds, catching his breath next to your tacky drying skin, inhale exhale inhale, 'you wanna kill somebody this weekend?'</p><p>and yeah, you do, and you've never been a big romantic but somethin' sweet flutters in your chest when he asks you that. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>can yall tell i watched that disturbing movie iceberg video essay recently lol</p><p>title/summary from breezeblocks by alt-j</p></blockquote></div></div>
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